


novel tactics

by poetrics



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Breathplay, Dom/sub, Humiliation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Stockings, Topping from the Bottom, all kinks have been negotiated prior to this scene, remember to stay safe sane and consensual kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9569351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetrics/pseuds/poetrics
Summary: Ilima is the platonic ideal of a Trainer. He loves his Pokemon immensely and trains alongside them, not above them. He’d never demand obedience from any of his team, and he respects them and their independence always.People, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

> literally just 3.6k words of Guzma getting stepped on I never asked for this
> 
> Ilima is 19, Guzma is 23. also Ilima is nb and uses he/him don't @ me

Guzma’s been getting the all-around cold shoulder from his former team, and he really isn’t feeling it until he steps into his room and sees why, exactly, they’re giving this part of the house such a wide berth.

Ilima is lounging on his faded purple chair, looking for all the world like a redolent saint smiling down on him. His argyle sweater is folded on a side table and his shirt is half unbuttoned. As always, the sight makes Guzma’s mouth run dry. Dri _er_ , when he notices how one of Ilima’s hands is occupied.

“Sorry to drop in unannounced,” the captain says, and it’s not fair that he’s so composed while lazily stroking himself through his thin dress slacks. “I trust now isn’t a bad time?”

“Yeah- no- you’re good.” Guzma stumbles over the double negative while making sure the door is closed and locked behind him.

The smile spreads. “May we begin, then?”

A thrill curls around his spine to his gut. He’s already straightening up. “Yeah, and, uh, sitrus means slow down and cheri means stop.”

Something turns sharp in Ilima’s eyes- has he overstepped by giving their safewords without being asked?- but it morphs into something sweeter as he inclines his head. Guzma jolts forward like the motion itself is an invisible leash. Anticipation is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

When Hala encouraged him to take on a trial with the normal-type captain this probably wasn’t the outcome the kahuna had anticipated. Ilima was fascinated by Guzma’s battling style, and insisted they battle- and again- and talk it over- and talk some more- and there had been a few drinks, and- Their arrangement might be unusual and a little haphazard, but Guzma is no stranger to either.

Ilima gives him a cursory once-over. “When was the last time you touched yourself?” Guzma’s eyes widen, and he’s ready to launch into a side shuffle complete with hemming and hawing when Ilima cuts him off sharply. “Don’t think I can’t tell when you’re lying, boy.”

The way he says the word is like getting punched in the chest. Guzma likes it.

“Two days ago.”

“Mm, and when did I tell you not to?”

“Last week.” An eyebrow lifts at him and Guzma manages to look halfway trite. “I’m sorry, captain.”

“I don’t think you are.” Ilima leans forward, placing his chin in his hands. “No noises, unless it’s your safewords, until I say so. That includes talking. Are we clear?” Guzma opens his mouth and Ilima sighs. “You can nod or shake your head.”

A smirk. Then a nod.

“Good start.” He leans back in the chair again. “Now, strip.”

Honestly, it’s his least favorite part of sex. Guzma knows he doesn’t have a solid handle on what Ilima would call “sensuality,” and the thought of being given full attention while attempting to remove his clothes (and not fall over, like that one time) turns him a bright red. Still, an order’s an order, and usually Ilima’s end in really amazing orgasms, so he ignores the pulse in his ears and strips down as quickly as possible. His shirt might end up on a vase. Whatever.

“Look at you,” Ilima murmurs as Guzma tries not to give in to the impulse to cover his crotch. “So embarrassed. You’re all bark and no bite.”

Every once in a while, this happens- Ilima hits on a nerve that Guzma doesn’t even realize is still flayed open- and he reacts without thinking. His eyes snap up, lit from within, and he takes several aggressive steps forward. “I’ll show you no bite-”

An outstretched foot stops him, planted flat below his sternum.

Ilima’s voice is low, cautious. “Do you need to-”

“No,” and since when did his voice sound so ragged? He swallows around the stupid, stupid lump in his throat and reminds himself where he is. And the fact that- well. Guzma’s eyes flick forward again and he deliberately pushes into Ilima’s foot while shutting his mouth.

Ilima gives him a moment more before smiling beatifically. “Kneel.”

Guzma shuffles forward to obey and Ilima’s foot stays on him. He’s wearing stockings, and the glide of them across his skin isn’t something Guzma expected to make his breath catch in his throat. Ilima prods at his shoulder and it’s easy to give way to the pressure, easier still to place a kiss like a supplicant on the calf so close to his face. Ilima pauses, a soft noise in his throat, and Guzma takes the opportunity to reach up and slide his hands around-

His eyes had slid shut, so he’s not exactly sure how the leg disappeared, but now Ilima is shaking his head at him. “When will you learn to ask permission? Hands behind your back.” Guzma knows a rhetorical question when he hears one and complies silently. Ilima seems to be contemplating something, but it’s purely performative- Guzma knows he’s had every moment planned out since before he entered the room. “Come here. I’m going to have you suck me off.”

Shit. The carpet scrapes his knees as Guzma shifts forward, eyes on the way Ilima shimmies out of his pants. He moans without meaning to- Ilima gives him a sharp look, but otherwise doesn’t reprimand him.

Ilima isn’t wearing any underwear, and a lacy white garter belt holds up the apparently thigh high stockings that are just a shade paler than his skin. Guzma is going to _die_. He moves to brace himself on the spread open legs, but he’s stopped by Ilima clicking his tongue. “Keep your arms behind you. No touching.”

Well, fine.

Guzma turns to mouth along one of Ilima’s legs, dragging his tongue along the silky fabric of the stockings. Once he reaches skin, he nips his way up to the juncture of his thigh- Ilima hums and threads his fingers through his hair. It feels like a blessing.

Ilima is half hard, and it’s sloppy without the use of his hands, but- Guzma kisses his way up the shaft and sucks lightly at the head and is rewarded by the way he can feel him growing harder in his mouth. His own cock twitches in response and his eyes shut as he swirls his tongue around the head, leaning forward to take more, give more-

The movement pitches him forward, and he would have ended up falling into Ilima’s crotch if not for the fingers that tighten in his hair, wrenching a gasp from him. Ilima is watching him with hooded eyes. “Careful.”

Guzma looks up apologetically and knows by the way Ilima licks his lips that he’s forgiven.

Since he’s not allowed to touch, Ilima holds him back by the hand in his hair while he strokes himself to full hardness, and Guzma can only watch and try not to make small, pathetic noises in the back of his throat. Ilima is gorgeous and he knows it, knows just how to arch his back and bite his own lip and run his fingers over his pretty cock, and Guzma is caught up in his show until Ilima tugs him forward by the grip in his hair, brushing the head of his cock against his lips. “Do you want it?”

Guzma is straining now, trying to reach forward and take him in, and he thinks the answer is fairly obvious but an iron grip is holding him too close and too far away. He whines.

“Tell me. Use your words.”

“I want to, Ilima please let me-” He’s pulled that crucial bit further and he sets upon Ilima’s dick immediately, grateful moan muffled in his suddenly full mouth. Finesse isn’t something he can achieve with his hands behind his back so he goes for enthusiasm, nearly choking when he tries to deep throat him right away. It’s so, so worth it- Ilima’s fingers tighten in his hair and his moan is high and breathy.

“Fuck, Guzma-”

The heady accomplishment of getting Ilima to swear and use his name so soon goes straight to his dick, sitting heavy and flushed between his legs. Guzma quickly sets a pace, tonguing along Ilima’s shaft as he takes as much as he can, and Ilima’s hips stutter up to meet him. He pulls himself off, and for a moment the hand in his hair feels unsure, but he bats away the concern with the one word he knows he’s allowed to say right now. “Please.”

He’s dragged back down onto Ilima’s cock. The sharp pain in his scalp is so good and he chokes as Ilima thrusts into his mouth, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “This is what you wanted?” The question is murmured, breathless. “You want me to use you like this? You’re so desperate and I haven’t even touched you yet.” He’s fucking his mouth in earnest now, holding him from falling over entirely and Guzma feels like fire is racing across his skin. The only thing keeping him upright is Ilima. “You look so good on your knees.”

The backhanded praise makes his pulse ring in his ears, and he does his best to _be_ good, to take as much as Ilima is giving him, but Ilima has other plans. A few more sharp thrusts and he slows down. Guzma is trembling.

“I almost forgot,” Ilima says conversationally, “There’s something you reacted to earlier that I wanted to explore. You’re allowed to make noises now.”

His foot slides up the outside of Guzma’s leg, and Guzma shudders.

“Interesting.” The stockings make the glide to the top of his leg smooth, and he points his toes to push into his hipbone. This garners a broken moan and Guzma tries to pull away but Ilima holds him down, dragging his foot along his pelvic line. “No, don’t stop.”

Guzma takes a shaky breath in through his nose when Ilima strokes up the inside of his thigh. He’s studying his reactions, cataloging them while still on the receiving end of a _blowjob_. Guzma is just a plaything right now, something to be examined, and it drives him crazy- especially when Ilima’s foot finally runs along the underside of his cock.

“Here too?” Guzma feels pulled tight in all directions and he whines. “Interesting.” He presses further, flattens Guzma’s cock against his stomach, and it’s almost too much, he’s shaking with the effort not to grind against the silky fabric. Ilima pulls him off his cock so he can watch his face more clearly, but Guzma is burning alive and can’t meet his eyes. “You enjoy this.” It’s not a question, not in the way Ilima pushes harder, and it’s painful now but feels so fucking good- “How pitiful.”

A sob rips itself from Guzma’s throat and his hips jerk forward involuntarily. His head whips up, terrified that he messed up, but Ilima is watching him keenly. His heart catches in his throat. “Keep going. Do you think you could get off, just like this?” He could, he knows he could, and the shame he feels for it is completely overridden by the image- rubbing himself pathetically against Ilima’s foot while he watches until Guzma comes on his stockings. His answer must show on his face, because Ilima takes himself in hand with a pleased smile, other foot swinging up to rest on Guzma’s shoulder. “Show me.”

The intensity of Ilima’s gaze is too much so he watches him stroke himself instead, breath catching as he jerks forward into the touch he’s allowed. Thoughtlessly, he reaches forward, smoothes one hand over the leg next to his head-

And Ilima pulls away his legs sharply and slaps him across the face.

“Don’t be so greedy.”

The tone of Ilima’s reprimand stings just as harshly as the slap, and Guzma stumbles over the words, head falling low even as his hips hitch forward in response. “I’m sorry captain, I didn’t mean to- please, I’m sorry, please don’t-”

His head is lifted by a hand under his chin this time, and Ilima waits for him to make eye contact. “Get on the bed, I’m going to fuck you.”

Heat throbs through his whole body and Guzma scrambles to obey, laying back against a pillow with his fists clenched at his sides. Ilima finally discards his shirt and slips his hand into the pants he had placed aside, retrieving a condom and a small container of lube. He’s all long, graceful lines as he throws one leg over Guzma to straddle him, and Guzma can barely stand how much he needs to touch him.

“Keep your hands to yourself for now,” Ilima commands, cutting directly through that hope. “Watch me. No touching yourself, either.”

It’s torture. Ilima’s hair is disheveled, falling over one shoulder and sticking to his forehead. A bead of sweat slips down his neck to his collarbone as he reaches back and presses in with one finger, and Guzma is watching so intently he gasps with him at the stretch. Slim thighs, still in those damn stockings, bracket Guzma’s sides and as he works himself open Ilima begins to rock forward a bit, the brush of fabric almost ticklish. His other hand comes up to play with a nipple, eyelashes fluttering shut, and Guzma chokes on air. Blue eyes slit back open, pinning him down with his gaze, and Guzma can see the moment he adds another finger by the way they get pain-tight for just a moment.

“Please,” Guzma gasps, voice absolutely wrecked, “I need-”

“My thighs.” He’s fucking himself with his fingers now, but Ilima still has remarkable control over his voice. “No higher than the top of the- aah- stockings.” Guzma rushes to obey, digging his nails into Ilima’s legs, and the response is a strangled moan. Ilima’s eyes are glassy. “Good boy.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He thrusts into empty air, suddenly desperate for friction. “Almost ready,” Ilima tells him, and when his fingers trace the tops of the stockings, with a sudden ferocity, “Don’t you fucking _dare_.”

He doesn’t dare, just trembles under this whirlwind of a trainer and drags his hands back down his legs.

Without stopping, Ilima picks up the condom wrapper and tears it open with his teeth, pulling it out and rolling it down onto Guzma with one hand. “More lube,” he grits out, and Guzma obliges immediately, his breath punched out of him when Ilima strokes it onto him firmly. In the next moment, he’s sliding down, positioning his cock at his own entrance, and then Guzma is fully inside him.

They pause, the only sound in the room their gasping, ragged breaths. Ilima is staring into the distance and Guzma wants, _needs_ his attention back on him. Hands still dutifully on Ilima’s thighs, he rolls his hips up into the tight heat.

It has the desired effect- Ilima is looking at him again- but his hand shoots out against Guzma’s chest. “You just keep taking without asking, boy.” To punctuate the word, he rocks back onto his cock, and Guzma moans. “No moving. I’m taking exactly what I want from you, do you understand?”

He could cry, probably. “Yes, captain.” Satisfied, Ilima begins moving again, but- “Just- could you please-?” Guzma still doesn’t know how to ask for things, can’t make it sound sexy like Ilima does, but he can grab the hand on his chest and move it to his throat, head tipped back submissively. “Please?”

Ilima’s breathless laugh is all the warning he has before he presses down on his windpipe, hard. “Like this?” Guzma makes a noise that sounds like it might be a choked off affirmative, and Ilima has to be able to feel his cock pulse inside him. Ilima hums, pleased, and starts fucking himself on Guzma.

Right as his face starts to tingle, Ilima pulls back his hand, and Guzma makes a noise that he really doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about right now. He sucks air into his lungs, light-headed, and the pressure is back on his throat immediately. It’s a vicious cycle that makes his head spin and sparks dance across his skin, and Ilima is relentless, grinding on his dick like it’s a fucking _toy_ -

He’s given a moment longer than usual to breathe, and with sudden clarity Guzma realizes he’s close. “I’m gonna-”

Ilima stops moving.

Guzma makes an explosive, frustrated sound and almost starts fucking up into him, but a hand is laid across his throat in clear warning, and he freezes.

He may still be panting, but Ilima manages sweetly, “Look at you. So well trained. Stay still for me, sweetheart.” He starts moving slowly, leisurely, nearly pulling off him then seating himself again, and Guzma wants to scream. “You’re not done yet.” He licks his own hand and begins pulling on his cock, eyes glittering. “Did you want something?”

“Please.”

Ilima rotates his hips. “Please what?”

“Fuck me, please, captain- shit!”

It’s a punishing pace again and Guzma is _wrecked_ , absolutely lost in it. Ilima’s talking again, and the words he manages to hear through the haze burn through him- how he’s needy, how Ilima wants to take him apart and wreck him, how his bravado means nothing here, when he’s reduced to what he wants to be. Pathetic, pitiful, _helpless_.

He doesn’t realize Ilima has pulled off him completely until the hand lifts from his throat again and he chokes on the fresh oxygen. He fists his hands in the bands of the stockings, writhing, too far gone to care what he looks like, but the command slices through his lust-filled mind.

“Watch me.”

Ilima is above him, hand on his cock, chasing his own pleasure. His smile as Guzma gapes at him is full of knives, and it’s a matter of seconds before he’s coming with a strangled moan, dripping onto Guzma as he almost topples forward. He jerks himself through it to the point of pain, eyes closing with a pinched brow, and he looks just as dangerous through the aftershocks. His teeth are still bared.

A moment passes as he collects himself. His thighs are trembling. Without warning, he swipes through the mess on Guzma’s stomach and shoves those fingers into Guzma’s mouth. “Lick.”

Guzma whines and obeys, and Ilima’s smile is still cutting into him.

Bracing them both, he rolls them over and Guzma is suddenly holding himself up above Ilima, who inclines his head in much the same way he had earlier. “Your turn.”

Guzma barks out a laugh, torn between amused and painfully, awfully aroused. “Turns, huh?”

“Show me your tactics,” Ilima all but purrs, spreading his legs.

It’s a poor joke and besides, Guzma’s ‘tactics’ are shot- all according to Ilima’s plan, he’s sure- but he rocks forward anyway, one hand guiding his dick as he sinks into him again. Elegant legs circle his waist as they both adjust to the new position, and Guzma waits for the breathy “Move” before he does so.

Soon his hips are snapping forward hard and fast, spurred on by the moans in his ear and the nails leaving welts down his back. “That’s it, give it to me.”

Guzma answers by biting down on Ilima’s shoulder, and the surprised cry that elicits almost does him in. “I’m- please let me, fuck, Ilima, please, _please_ -”

Ilima nips at his ear before answering. “Come.”

A hoarse, ragged cry rips itself from his abused throat, and his jerky thrusts slow as his orgasm crashes over him. He’s babbling, he has no idea what he’s saying but it’s good, it’s just so good, he can’t stand it- and he collapses, sweaty and trembling, into Ilima’s waiting arms.

He only waits long enough to catch his breath before he pulls out, and they both wince and laugh breathlessly at each other. “I’ve gotta-” but he’s pushed gently to his side, and he doesn’t need more encouragement than that to sink bonelessly into the mattress.

“Let me.” Ilima pulls the condom off him, wrinkling his nose delicately as he ties and tosses it. He produces a bowl of water and a washcloth from fuck-knows-where and wipes them both down. Guzma hisses at the temperature but doesn’t complain. Then he’s being handed a bottle of water, and he sits up just enough to sip at it before falling back again.

Fingers are carding through his hair soothingly. “How was that?”

“Fuckin’ amazing.” His voice is still shot. Probably will be for a while. “Did I do okay?”

Ilima stops, and for a moment Guzma is struck by fear. He’s been too open, too vulnerable, and he just fucked it all up- he suddenly can’t breathe around the lump in his throat but he opens his eyes anyways, wanting to get the worst of it over-

He doesn’t expect Ilima’s face to be so close or his expression to be so open and unguarded in return. “You did _wonderfully_ ,” he says earnestly, and kisses him.

The number of times they’ve kissed could be counted on one hand, and this is the first time they’ve done so outside a scene, and it’s- not what Guzma was expecting, in the best possible way. It doesn’t put goosebumps on his skin or send a shiver down his spine. It’s simple, and sweet, and feels _comfortable_. Guzma kisses back the best he can and hopes Ilima feels the same.

They pull back at the same time, a little wide-eyed, then relax into smiles.

Unusual and haphazard? Sure. But this also feels _right_.


End file.
